


Dawn to Dusk

by Autumn - Gaia (GaiaMaiden)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaiaMaiden/pseuds/Autumn%20-%20Gaia
Summary: What fate awaits a woman who must forsake their greatest dream to continue onward...?My FF14 character Autumn Darbonne first arrived on Norvrandt not as a Monk, but a Dancer! What caused the woman who threw away her life of relative safety to pursue training as a Monk to finally hang up her cesti in favor of something else? Find out in this latest story that takes place shortly after the confrontation with Zenos in the Ghimlyt Dark...
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

~~  
  
“Dad?”   
  
On the busy streets of a Thavnairian market, a small Elezen girl tugged on her father’s arm. The man initially paid her no mind, as he was finishing his dealings with the merchant in front of him. Once the bag of groceries was in his free hand, the girl tugged once more.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaad!”

“Quiet down, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

The girl looked away from her father and pointed at a large crowd of people in the nearby plaza, one that steadily grew in both people and volume. Though she didn’t say a word, the question formed itself in the man’s head: “What’s that?”

He looked up towards the crowd and gave a reflexive frown. The man thought for a few moments before breathing a short sigh and kneeled down next to his daughter, placing the bag of groceries just next to him. “Time to go up!”

The girl responded with an excited gasp, lightly jumping in place before her father picked her up and placed her on his shoulders. He picked the bag back up with his left hand and carefully made his way over to the group, with the sounds of a playful song growing in intensity as he approached.

Towards the edge of the crowd, both father and daughter caught sight of the source of the commotion: A trio of women danced in a clearing at the center of the plaza, clothed in light dresses decorated with no shortage of gold charms, and wielding shimmering chakrams in each of their hands. All the while, a small band off to the side of them belted out a jovial tune that the women seemed to dance in step with. Some of the crowd closer to the center kept close eyes on the women, completely lost in the spectacle of the show. Others happily talked amongst themselves, or found themselves clapping or moving to the beat as well.

“Dad? ...What are they doing?”, whispered the young girl, her voice dripping with awe at the sight before her.

Her father only answered in a soft grumble. He kneeled down once again, picked his daughter up off his shoulders and placed her back down on the ground. He then grabbed hold of her hand and began to walk away from the crowd, before feeling his arm tug in resistance.

“Dad, why are we leaving?! I wanna know what they’re doing!”

The man ignored the question initially as he tried to drag her daughter away from the show a second time.  
  
“Daaaaaaaaaaad!” shouted the girl, struggling to keep herself in place.   
  
The man breathed another sigh before finally answering: “They’re wasting their time.” 

A slight bitterness floated amongst the words as he spoke them. This tone did not go unnoticed, however, as he felt another tug on his arm as he attempted to turn and leave once more. He looked down again to see his daughter pouting directly at him, clearly dissatisfied with his response.

The man knelt down close to his daughter once more before talking anew: “They’re dancers, sweetie. They… dance for people.”

The girl’s ears perked up at the new answer. She shot a glance back towards the crowd, as if she could see the dancers through the wall of people before her.

“Thankless jobs however, or at least dangerous ones,” the man continued. “They’re often paid next to nothing, and their outfits… they tend to attract the wrong kind of people.”  
  
“...Bad guys?”   
  
“Yes sweetie, bad guys. It doesn’t matter, however. You’re going to be a Scholar when you grow up, not… anything like _that_. Once you get through all your studies, you’ll have more money than you could ever need, and you’ll be surrounded by respectable people and…”

The man continued on with his speech, one that the girl had heard many times before that day. As the man finally started to lead the two of them away from the crowd, the girl stole one last glance towards the music and the show that laid beyond it.

_They were… pretty…_ she thought to herself.

~~


	2. Chapter 1

~~

Though far removed from the frontlines of war, an ever-familiar air of tension hung over the Firmament. Many people could be seen carrying a wide assortment of supplies, weapons and armor from throughout the city towards the Gates of Judgement, where caravans bound for Ala Mhigo waited patiently for their deliveries. Amongst the swarm of faces were many a knight and machinist, also bound for the same destination; off to stare down an enemy not of scales and fire, but flesh and steel.

The infirmaries of Ishgard predictably shared in this surge of activity, as those of the snow-coated nation injured on the frontlines would inevitably find their ways back here. In one such location, the anxious footsteps of the Lord Commander, Aymeric de Borel, could be heard pacing back and forth in an otherwise empty room. It was not too long ago that he had first burst through the doors, the seemingly lifeless body of the Warrior of Light in his arms. Despite numerous assurances that she was now in safe hands, Aymeric could not still the fear in his heart until he knew for sure that Autumn’s life was no longer in danger.

For what seemed like hours, he waited in front of a pair of doors that led into the examination room where Autumn had been taken, until finally the doors opened to the sight of one of the chirurgeons that saw him in.

“Sir Aymeric, ‘tis an honor to-”  
  
“How is she?!”

The man jolted back from the sudden outburst. “U-uh, very well, straight to the point then. Well, if there is one piece of good news to come out of all of this, it is that she will _live_ ; of that much, I am certain.”

Aymeric issued out an exasperated sigh. “ _That_ is a relief.”

“However”, the chirurgeon resumed, “To start, I’m afraid that our worst fears have been realized: The Warrior of Light now exhibits the same death-like slumber that has befallen her other Scion comrades. She has yet to show any signs of activity since her arrival here, and all attempts to wake her have failed to elicit any response from her whatsoever.”

He paused for a moment before looking down at the floor, a grim scowl forming on his face. “...Though this would serve as more a _mercy_ to her, given the state that she is in now.”

“Are her injuries that grave?” Aymeric asked, trying to ignore the burgeoning dread in his heart. “I have heard tales of Zenos’s strength, but for that man to have taken _her_ down on top of Lord Hien, and Mistresses Lyse and Yugiri… I could scarcely believe my ears. A delusion I would have likely stayed in had Estinien not delivered her back to me personally; One would think she had fought the entirety of the Garlean Army and more, given how she looked.”

“In truth, milord... Autumn suffered only minor injuries from her fight with the crown prince.”

“ _What_? Are you certain?”

“I can understand why you would believe that, given how she looked upon her arrival here. I for one fully expected the worst when we placed her on the examination table. Yet beyond a few minor scrapes, cuts, and… what looked like magical burns, there was remarkably _little_ to treat. By all accounts, she held up well against Zenos, and encountered few, if anyone, on her way to him.”

Aymeric stood stunned. “But then why-?”

“Did she look as if she was two steps from Halone’s halls?” quipped the chirurgeon. “I cannot say for certain the cause… or caus _es_ , but in my professional opinion, her current condition was the result of fighting and/or injuries that occurred _long_ before today.” 

He crossed his arms as he spoke, a stern expression on his face. “To start, the damage to her equipment was more a product of _negligence_ than anything. I’m hardly what one could consider an expert armorer, but even _I_ can tell that it has been quite some time since her gear has seen any substantial amount of maintenance. The metal on her left sabaton, for instance, was on the verge of falling apart, and the one on her right was already stripped down to its leather base. The rest of her gear fared little better: tears and abrasions from top to bottom, pieces of leather dried or desiccated to the point of fraying… well, I should mention that there were _some_ repairs made, but only the bare minimum, from what we here were able to work out.”

“Her physical condition, however, is far worse off, though much more centralized in nature. I noted some injuries all throughout her body, but the worst seemed to focus outward from her hands and feet, _especially_ her hands. They had no shortage of scars and other miscellaneous injuries, and the idle positioning of them as she laid on the table suggests rather significant internal pain. I suppose this would be expected considering her combat style, but to this degree… I cannot say for certain, but in those who I’ve seen similar such injuries while fighting the Horde, this would easily be enough to cripple a lesser man outright. The fact that she was not only still standing, but _fighting_ as well, and all without anyone else knowing? ...She certainly lives up to her title well.”

Aymeric stood in disbelief. “W-What would cause such injuries then?”

The chirurgeon looked down again, working out his thoughts into words. “That would require a more thorough physical examination to be certain. Honestly… the only thing I could really guess, given everything mentioned thus far, is that she has been in a continuous state of fighting for quite some time now. Weeks… likely months, in truth; Only the Fury would know what exactly befell that woman… beyond the woman herself…”

“In any case, we’ve placed her in a bed and will have someone on hand to monitor her at all times for the immediate future. We’ve prepared to send out a messenger to the Scions to alert them of the situation, and requested that she be kept here for some time-”

“There will be no need, I’ve received a message from them already. They understand the situation; give Autumn what time she needs to recover in the meanwhile.” Aymeric’s tone slipped back into one given his office. Internally, however, memories of Estinien came rushing back to him; events mirroring when he had carried the storied dragoon into the same infirmary after being freed from Nidhogg’s control. He felt the same helplessness now that he had before. 

“...Is it possible that I be allowed to see her?”

The chirurgeon contemplated the request for a moment. “...Give us another few minutes, just to be sure she doesn’t suddenly destabilize. Mayhap go for a stroll around the city in the meanwhile, assuming you are not needed on the frontlines? I’m sure much of the citizenry would be put at ease at the sight of you.”

“Very well. Should anything happen in my absence, seek out Lucia or one of my knights in the meanwhile.”  
  
The chirurgeon took a bow before turning towards the hallway that led further into the infirmary. Aymeric began to move towards the exit, thoughts swirling in his head. _What has happened to you, Autumn? To what lengths were you driven to-_

“SIR!”

Before either man had gotten the chance to leave the room, a young Elezen girl burst through the doors in front of the chirurgeon, visibly out of breath.

“Sir! Come quickly!”

\---

A few moments earlier, in one of the patient rooms further inside the building, the young Elezen girl could be seen tending to the furniture in the room, making sure that everything was clean and tidy for its freshly arrived occupant. Satisfied that the area had been thoroughly dusted and cleaned, she left the room briefly to put away her cleaning supplies before going to check in on the patient once more.

Lying peacefully on the bed, the only visible part of the Warrior of Light was her head, the remainder hidden away by the clean white sheets she had been tucked into earlier. Her face had the look of absolute serenity, as if she was simply enjoying a deep slumber. Yet even this little bit was enough to put the young girl on edge; she had never gotten so close to the “Savior of Ishgard” before, and now here she was, tending to the woman as if she were any other patient.

She yet had a job to do however, so she braced herself and approached the woman.

_...Everything seems to look fine. Sheets still look clean… her face could use a little-_

“GAH!”  
  
“AHHH!”

Without warning, Autumn swiftly sat up on the bed, her face locked in a state of shock. The sudden jolt in movement proved too much for the poor young girl, causing her to stumble back and crash down onto her bottom in response. A few seconds ticked by before the adrenaline began to pass, and Autumn finally began to look around, noting the change in environment.

“W-where… am I?”

She glanced over to the left to find the young girl on the ground looking up at her.

“Umm-”  
  
“AHHHH!!!”

The girl scrambled to her feet and quickly made a beeline for the door.

“Wait! Don’t- _agh_!”

Autumn shot out her right arm in a futile attempt to stop the girl, before a sudden jolt of pain shot through her in response, stopping her from speaking any further. The brief interruption was enough to allow the girl to make her escape, as Autumn found herself alone in the room once she regained her senses.

She looked down at her arm--the source of the wincing pain--and saw that it was wrapped up in a noticeable amount of bandages, extending from her hand up to her elbow. Surprised by the sudden addition, Autumn threw off the bed sheets still on top of her in order to take stock of herself: She was dressed in simple clothes, ones she typically saw patients wearing while inside an infirmary or similar such building. Her other arm was wrapped in bandages mirroring the right arm, and she noted similar bandages around both her feet, going up to her knees. There was an absence of blood on any of her dressings however, and no new slashing injuries to her torso from what she could tell, so it was safe to assume she wasn’t in any immediate danger. 

A cursory glance around the room showed no signs of her usual outfit or any of her other possessions, and gave few other clues as to where she was in general.

 _I guess I’m in an infirmary somewhere, the bigger question is… where_ **_is_ ** _this place? Doesn’t look like the Rising Stones or anything Ala Mhigan, that much is obvious,_ she thought to herself.

Not seeing any further clues as to her location, Autumn looked down again to her arms and frowned reflexively. As if practicing an age old habit, she began moving her hands and arms about, as if testing them. Twinges of pain could be felt as she moved them, confirming--at the very least--that she was back in reality…

“You’re awake. Thank heavens!”

Autumn looked back up towards the open doorway to the sight of Aymeric and the young girl from earlier. The girl gave a quick bow to her guest before quickly hurrying herself out of view, leaving the two of them alone. Aymeric quickly walked over to the bed that Autumn laid on, and took a seat on a chair right beside it.

“W-Where am I?” Autumn gasped, giving the room another quick glance as if to confirm her surroundings. “Where is Zenos?”

Aymeric gave a quiet sigh of relief. 

“I see you recall that much, at least. To your first question, you’re in an infirmary in Ishgard. As for Zenos, well…” 

He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing on. “In the midst of your duel, it is said you faltered, and that the crown prince seized the opportunity to deliver a mortal blow.”

“Yes, I remember that part well, _thank you_ ,” Autumn chided. She closed her eyes tightly and growled softly, trying to push out the memory of Zenos’s blade coming down on her.

“Well,” Aymeric continued, “Before his blade could find its mark, he was distracted by the arrival of a second adversary who bore you away from the battlefield and into the hands of our chirurgeons.”

“Lest you wonder, he left before you woke... As is his wont.” He gave a smirk as the words left his mouth. “Estinien never was one for emotional farewells.”

Autumn shot back up to meet Aymeric’s smile, a reaction of shock that melted quickly away into a wry smile of her own. “Huh… heh, I guess that makes us even then...”

Aymeric sat back in his chair before he resumed his report: “Though Zenos bested all before him, the battle clearly took its toll, for he retreated shortly after your rescue. Seeing this, the remaining imperial forces decided discretion was the better part of valor and pulled back, allowing us to reestablish our position. We have since received word of renewed unrest in the provinces, doubtless inspired by the efforts of the Eorzean Alliance and our Far Eastern allies.”

The news was enough for Autumn to finally start relaxing in her bed. “Well… that’s good news at least.”

“Nor does it end there,” Aymeric chirped. “We have also come into possession of intelligence suggesting unrest within the imperial court. This would certainly explain why both the Emperor and Lord Zenos appear to have abandoned the fight. ...A long-awaited ray of hope in these dark times.”

Autumn issued out a large sigh of relief, slumping back onto the wall. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let herself enjoy a brief respite before opening her eyes back up, her gaze locked on Aymeric. 

“What of the Scions?” she responded wearily.

“Yet to awake, I’m afraid.” Aymeric answered.

Autumn closed her eyes for another moment before listlessly gazing up at the ceiling. “Figures. That would have been _too_ convenient.”

“For now however, please… concentrate on your own recovery. You have carried the hopes of some half-dozen nations--and we are all eternally grateful for your efforts--but no one is without their limits. Not even you.”

Autumn looked back at Aymeric, flashing him a tired grin. “I appreciate the sentiment, I really do… but there’s still work that I need to get done. I need to get back to the Scions-” 

As she spoke, she began to move herself out of the bed, only to be stopped by Aymeric as he placed a firm hand on her leg as she moved. The two of them locked gazes towards one another.

“Please, my friend, do not think I have not noticed your current condition. You looked as if you were on death’s door when Estinien brought you to me!”

“I’m fine Aymeric. Really.”

“...You’re a poorer liar than _he_ is, Autumn.”

“I’m _fine_ dammit, let me- _agh_!” 

Without warning, Aymeric grabbed hold of Autumn’s left hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Ordinarily such an act would provide only a mild discomfort. Yet to the bed-ridden Monk, it felt as if someone was crushing her hand into pulp. She sharply drew back from Aymeric, nursing her pained extremity as she gave a ragged wheeze in response.

Aymeric merely looked on, scolding her with his eyes as she coddled her arm. “I’ve already spoken with one of the chirurgeons. He informed me that your hands and feet have been seriously injured. Not to mention that your gear was effectively in tatters when I brought you in here. _Neither_ of which occurred as a direct result of your duel with Zenos, from what I’m told.”  
  
Autumn sat silently, her head hanging in shame.

“I understand that your duties often require much from you, but much of this seems rather... _uncharacteristic_ of you. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were attempting to work yourself into an early grave! Tell me Autumn… has something happened?”

“... _Has something happened?_ ” Autumn growled, her eyes not leaving the bedsheets in front of her. Aymeric observed her lowering her head and clenching her sheets before she began to tremble in place. He half expected her to explode upon him, admonishing him for his admittedly poor choice of words or his refusal to let her go.

Yet such a reaction never came. A stifled whimpering and the soft pattering of tears upon cloth came instead.

“I _screwed up_ … _that’s_ what happened,” Autumn hissed. “I’ve failed them all. Weeks and months spent chasing after every last lead that I could… and what do I have to show for it?! Nothing but _pain_ and _failure_! …And some vague _fucking_ suggestion from some red-robed _bastard_ that I’ve never even met before in my entire life!”

Autumn’s words grew increasingly bitter as she spoke, yet Aymeric sensed all of her rage seemed directly pointed at herself. “They’re still _stuck_ … _wherever they are!_ _Nobody_ knows what to do about it! And the only thing _I_ seem good at anymore is just hurting myself! What good am I to anyone anymore?! I can’t... I can’t even keep you all safe anymore!”

She could manage little more at that point; any attempts to keep talking were being thwarted by her struggle to keep herself from breaking down entirely. Stifled whines, clenched eyes, and a trembling throughout, but she would not allow herself the chance to lose herself to her despair. Even as she was, Autumn ever thought of continuing on as a Scion and as a Warrior of Light… or at least pretending to.

Aymeric was at a loss for words. In his time in his office, he had witnessed many such scenes like this one: A proud warrior or knight who was utterly defeated by the trials of their life. Maybe it was it being the vaunted Warrior of Light that made things different, or maybe it was because of his knowledge of all that she had done, for both Ishgard and Eorzea. Maybe it was simply just who she was as a person; a kind soul who always put her friends and loved ones before herself, even to a fault.

Whatever it was, he felt the need to act.

He got up from his chair and kneeled onto Autumn’s bed just to her side. Autumn had little time to react before Aymeric pulled her quickly towards him, holding her head tightly to his chest. A shallow gasp was the only sound heard between the two for a moment; Autumn was too surprised to say anything while Aymeric elected to say nothing at all, hoping his message of comfort would get across regardless.

...

\--

In the hallway just outside, the young girl from earlier stood holding a pitcher of water. She leaned in closer to the door that led into Autumn’s room, attempting to listen in on the conversation that had abruptly ceased seconds ago. Silence pervaded the building… before the loud sobbing of a woman could be heard from within and soon echoing throughout.

 _I should… return in a few minutes_ , she thought to herself, before turning on her heels and quietly tip-toeing away from the door.

~~


	3. Chapter 2

~~

Two nearly empty glasses of water sat on the desk closest to the bed, rings of condensation long since formed underneath them. A small pile of used tissues could be seen in the metal wastebasket that had been pulled up to the bed.

Aymeric had retaken his position in the chair in front of the bed while Autumn sat just off the bed’s edge, her bandaged legs lightly touching the floor. The two of them sat awkwardly in front of one another, neither wanting to be the first one to speak.

The silence got to Autumn first.

“I’m… sorry you had to see me like that,” she whimpered.

“ _Autumn_ ,” Aymeric sighed, “As great a hero as you are, you are yet a person; A person who experiences joys and sorrows and fears like any other. To not allow yourself any moments of weakness would be more harmful to you than anything that any blade or spell could ever hope to manage! Take it from someone whose own shoulders carry no shortage of the hopes and dreams of others.”

 _I wonder if anyone’s ever caught_ **_you_ ** _as low as this…_ whispered a thought in her head as it passed silently into the recesses of her mind.

“Still, I cannot help but worry about you. Not even Haurchefant’s death drove you to such extremes before, and clearly recent events have taken quite the toll on you, both physically and mentally,” Aymeric muttered, sitting back in his chair while wearing a pensive expression. “At the risk of upsetting you once more, I would like to reiterate my question from earlier: Has something happened to you, or to the Scions, for that matter? Something else that I have not been made aware of? I understand that the unaffected Scions have been quite busy looking for a means of curing your companions… Has there been a development?”

Autumn slumped forward almost out of reflex, her face scowling in response to the question. “In truth, I can’t answer that… frankly because I don’t really know myself. Since I’ve received no messages from anyone and given that _they_ ’re all still sleeping, then I assume the answer to that is ‘no’.”

“You don’t know?”

“I just recently returned from an overseas trip myself; a trip that lasted quite a few weeks or months even. In fact, you could consider it extremely lucky that I was around to respond to Zenos’s advance at all; On a whim, I decided to make a stop at Mor Dhona to resupply and check in with the Scions when a messenger came screaming up to me requesting my presence on the frontlines. If I hadn’t been stopped then, I’d probably be on another boat by about now.”

“I… was not aware you had left Eorzea...” Aymeric muttered. “The Far East?”

“And more,” Autumn replied. “Doma, Thavnair, the remnants of the Students of Baldesion’s HQ, the parts of Kugane I was allowed in… and some parts where I wasn’t. Even paid a visit to a few imperially-controlled provinces.”

“...Not that I found very much in those places,” she added.

“What drove you to venture that far out?” Aymeric exclaimed.

“To save _them_ ,” Autumn stated, vaguely gesturing into the air. ”Figured that was obvious by now.”

Aymeric gave an exasperated sigh. “Mayhap I should inquire from a different angle. The last I knew of your movements, you and Mistress Alisaie had taken to the frontlines in the Ghimlyt Dark before _she_ had been stricken down by the same condition that currently plagues your ranks. I understood that you then returned to the Rising Stones to recuperate from that day’s exertions… walk me through what happened in the days afterwards.”

A chill could be felt in the air as Aymeric uttered the name of the Leveilleur twin. Autumn looked away from her guest with a pained scowl, but eventually conceded to Aymeric’s request.

“...Anymore water in that pitcher?”

\--

Well to start, let me give you an idea of the situation at that point in time.

With Alisaie… gone, I was the only remaining Scion who still experienced those painful… headaches? Messages? ...I think I know now what they were _now_ , but I can get to that in a bit, I suppose.

Anyways, I wasn’t so worried about the state of the Scions; Tataru and the others would certainly keep things running and I knew that they wouldn’t give up on any of the Archons. As horribly selfish as it sounds, I was more worried about myself, and the consequences should _I_ fall. I was the only clue left concerning what was happening to all of us to begin with, not to mention that I was basically ‘the’ hero of the Alliance. If I went down… the Scions would lose their last lead and the Alliance would lose one of their strongest assets. I feared the Garleans could then use the resulting loss of morale to really push into us, and if they made it to Mor Dhona…

Well… Given that no progress had been made despite Alisaie basically calling in every last favor and contact we knew, I knew that I had to go on the offense, so to speak. Not just that though, time was basically against us. It wasn’t a question of _if_ I would succumb to that damned slumber, but _when_. From that point on, I worked out in my head that every moment that I could spare, I needed to use it to try and make some form of progress on the matter; If I couldn’t find anything to cure them, I needed to at least find a way to protect myself, if only to give myself enough time to maybe find aforementioned cure, or at least get a clue on the right direction.

Of course, the question then became… where to start? Well, the only place where we had made any _real_ progress in identifying the issue was with Master Matoya and Krile… even if all they discovered was that their souls weren’t present in their bodies anymore. Not to mention that I held out hope that maybe some old Sharlayan knowledge could be the key to this mystery. So, I set out for the Dravanian Hinterlands, arrived at Matoya’s Cave, and basically threw myself at their mercy. Whatever they wanted me to do or go find or… whatever else they could think of, I’d do it, no questions asked.

Working with them took two major flavors. A number of tasks involved running errands and retrieving things like enchanted inks or special alchemical solutions. There were a few tests that the two wished to carry out and needed extra help getting things together. Hells, had to make some of those ‘resources’ myself on occasion. 

For the most part however, much of what I did involved traveling back into the Great Gubal Library and retrieving specific tomes for Master Matoya. She would give me the names of specific books, give me what she remembered to be their locations in the library, and would send me out to go fetch them. Probably could have gotten Krile to do it long ago if the damned place wasn’t infested to the brim with voidsent… and stubbornly resilient security systems.

Requests for tomes were rather infrequent however, and progress felt painfully slow to me, so I started to use my free time to explore the Library myself. “Matoya is rather old”, I thought, “Maybe there are things in there she forgot about?” I probably would have stopped doing such ‘expeditions’ if my first few hadn’t actually yielded results; I found a few rare tomes related to Aetherology that Matoya seemed rather excited about rediscovering. “Promising leads”, I was informed.

At some point, we all settled into a routine of sorts. Testing… reading… retrieving… etc, etc.

Then…

…

…

Oh gods…

_Autumn?_

I… I think I… just realized something. Gods… I really _am_ an idiot…

_Is everything alright?_

Y-yeah, something just… suddenly made a lot more sense to me.

I don’t remember exactly how much time had passed, but I remember the monotony being broken up by Master Matoya pulling me aside one day and asked me if I was feeling alright. I remember brushing it all off; I felt fine enough to keep working, and there was still important work to be done.

I think she realized what I was doing to myself long before I ever did. At one point… my time in the Library began to eclipse my time spent doing… well, anything else really. I was _so_ convinced that the answer to curing everyone was buried _somewhere_ in that library, I just had to find it was all. Didn’t matter how many voidsents and golems I had to put down, as long as I got what I needed.

Before long, Matoya’s cave started looking like the inside of that library itself, with stacks of books lining virtually all of the walls by the end of things. Most of that was my own doing; I remember at one point that Matoya’s requests were growing smaller and smaller, so I just started bringing back any books that I felt were even _remotely_ useful. “Maybe some random word or phrase was hidden in them?” “Maybe something somewhere would give someone an epiphany?” All the while, both Matoya and Krile started to ask me more and more if I was okay, or if I needed rest. Again, I brushed all their questions off; I had a job to do. 

It all… came to a head one day when Master Matoya yanked me aside and basically ordered me to stop what I was doing that moment and rest. I don’t remember exactly what she said to me, but I do remember she was angry with me, and I think I recall the phrase ‘working myself to death’, which… in retrospect I was.

I… didn’t think that way at the time, of course. My mind was solely focused on finding a cure for the Scions. I was… too lost in my grief and my fears to think rationally and… and...

…

I said something terrible:

“You don’t actually give a _shit_ about Y’shtola at all, do you? I’m busting my ass trying to save her, and you want me to _stop_? Are you saying you’re fine with her rotting away on that damned bed of hers? You don’t care at all what happens to her anymore, do you?!”

I… don’t remember if that was exactly what I said; something along those lines, and a lot longer too.

...Regardless, she threw me out of the cave on the spot. Basically forbade me from ever showing my face around her ever again. That was probably the angriest I had ever seen that woman. 

At first, I was fine with this. I reasoned that I would find the cure on my own, save the Scions on my own, and then bring Y’shtola and the others back to her cave if only to gloat. A plan that theoretically could have worked… if Matoya hadn’t re-engaged the seal she originally had placed on the Library the following day; The one she had to take down so that we could find out about that ‘aetherical ram’ that allowed us to get into Azys Lla.

After I found out the Library had been re-sealed, that’s when I went on my little… ‘adventure’. Honestly, the destination didn’t really matter to me as much as what I hoped to find out there. Any lead I found, I chased after. Any location of knowledge, I sought out. The answer _had_ to be out there somewhere, I thought.

Everything kind of just… blurred together after that point. I _was_ on my own for the most part, so time kind of just lost meaning. One thing I _do_ remember, however, was feeling the pains in my arms and legs. Truth be told, I was aware of those pains for quite some time before that point, but it was after leaving Dravania when I _really_ started to notice them. I stopped caring though; I got it in my head that even my own body was trying to keep me from saving my friends and myself. “A broken body was better than a lifeless one”, I argued. It didn’t matter how bad things got for me, I was too focused on what would happen out in the world if I ended up like the rest of the Scions. I was convinced that Eorzea would get overrun, then the Garleans could push into Ala Mhigo and beyond, and if they made it to the Rising Stones…

They could have finished us all off. All without even trying.

If I stopped, the Garleans… the _Ascians_ … they would basically have won. It was only a matter of time, I thought. Even if it meant crippling myself, saving the Scions would at least keep that fighting chance alive, and if I did succumb, would it have mattered at that point if I was broken or not?

~~

“Not that it seemed to have mattered in the end,” Autumn sighed as she slumped back down. “All that work that I did and all the bridges I ended up burning… and in the end I could have just _waited_ for that damnable man’s message. Assuming that message even leads to anything; Twelve only know how the hell I’m gonna get back inside the Crystal Tower.”

“I suppose that answers some questions... however, I’m still most curious about the state of your equipment when you were brought in,” inquired Aymeric. “Were your travels truly that fraught with peril?”

“What? N-no… nothing I’d consider _particularly_ threatening anyways,” remarked Autumn. “I did keep up with my repairs for a time, but I found it was increasingly taking up more and more time, so I eventually just started doing just enough to be able to stay on the road. Or at least enough to keep everything from just outright falling to pieces.”

“I see…”

“Stuck to small meals too that I could just eat on the road and slept only when I was absolutely tired. I don’t know if you fully grasp how desperate I was to find a solution....“

Autumn gazed down at the floor again, fresh tears forming in her eyes.

“And now look at me… I mean… I may very well be safe from that affliction now… but I’m no closer to saving any of the other Scions than I was before... and now I may have ruined my body to the point of being forever unable to…”

Aymeric sat up from his chair and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Autumn, I can tell that you truly care for your friends… but remember that you are but one woman, and are yet mortal as far as I can tell. It is fine that you rest--that you lean on us for a change instead of taking every last burden upon your shoulders.”

“And allow me be the first of many to say that we will not let the realm fall to the Garleans as easily as you fear, even should you fall. Nor will we abandon your friends to whatever fate has planned for them. On that, you have my word. For now however, I ask that you finally afford yourself the chance to rest and recover. You, of all people, deserve that much.”

As the sun finally began to set outside, Aymeric finally began to make his way out from the room, but came to a sudden halt just as his hand reached out for the door’s handle.

“Ah, but before I forget! I was asked to deliver a message as soon as you awoke. A reminder that you are not alone, though many of your allies have fallen.”

He fully turned to Autumn with a warm smile across his face.

“When you _are_ well and rested, you are to return home, where friends will be waiting for you.”

Aymeric turned back around and gingerly opened the door in front of him.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to the front. May we meet again soon. Under _happier_ circumstances.”

The sound of the door gently closing otherwise broke the silence in the building.

Alone in the room, Autumn gazed down at the floor for a moment longer, with a small smile creasing onto her face as she went over Aymeric’s final words in her head once or twice... before tucking herself back into her bed. 

Her eyes slammed shut before her head reached the pillow.

~~


	4. Chapter 3

~~

  
~ _A few weeks later~_

The soft humming of a magitek tea kettle filled the mildly tense--but otherwise quiet--atmosphere in the Rising Stones. Tataru sat at one of the tables situated in the main room, a large number of documents scattered about in front of her: Financial ledgers, missives from the Eorzean Alliance, scouting reports of the Crystal Tower, and entries detailing methods of rousing comatose patients.

Sipping her tea, she slowly worked through her daily chores with practiced patience and precision. With many of the Scions otherwise preoccupied, such work had devolved into a monotonous routine of sorts. Work that was often lonely, save the frequent visits of Krile and-

“More tea, dear?”  
  
“Huh? Oh yes, thank you!”

Had it not been for the caretaking of F’lhaminn, such work may have driven the industrious Lalafell to insanity ages ago.

“It never seems to let up for even a moment…”  
  
“Nothing I can’t handle~!” Tataru exclaimed, pounding her chest with pride.

F’lhaminn took a seat across the table and poured herself a cup of tea of her own. She let herself settle into her chair before continuing: “Any change with our friend? Or is that merely the same report I’ve seen on this table many times before?”

She pointed to a small manilla-colored folder sticking out from underneath one of the numerous piles of paper along the side of the table.  
  
“I’m afraid not,” whispered Tataru, her sight never leaving from the shipping form in front of her. 

She sat back in her chair after giving the form a final signature, then reached over to grab the folder and gingerly opened it. Inside was a report she had read countless times since the Warrior of Light had returned from Ishgard: A full physical examination done on the woman shortly after said return, done to take full stock of the injuries she had sustained on her recent sojourn around the world.

Thumbing through the lines in the report, her mind couldn’t help but flashback to the day when she first heard them, as well as the days that immediately followed…

~~

“I’m afraid I do not have much good news to share, beyond the fact that her life isn’t in any immediate danger,” started the physician Orella.

Krile was the first to speak: “Well that’s a relief. You’ve been at things for quite some time now, I couldn’t help but begin to fear the worst!”  
  
“I wanted to be sure I was right about my diagnosis before telling you all anything. If nothing else, thank Commander Hext for finding me those documents I requested about the Fist of Rhalgr. Otherwise, I’d probably still be stumbling in the dark.”

Orella promptly sat down on a nearby chair, her physical exhaustion making itself known to all around her. “On the surface, she unsurprisingly has the traditional signs of overexertion. Much of her superficial injuries to her arms and legs came as a direct result of her fighting style; Some of it may scar, but there’s nothing there that shouldn’t heal with time.”

“Some of her deeper pains, however, will prove much more difficult to heal. I cannot tell the full extent of her internal injuries, but it’s clear that her excessive fighting has caused some form of serious damage, particularly in her hands. There’s no broken bones or anything, mind you, but I would not be surprised if there was some damage to her joints or to the nerves in her arms. Again, however, some of it may heal in time, assuming she actually rests and doesn’t run straight back out to the frontlines or something similar. Otherwise, she may very well succeed in physically crippling herself.”

“However,” she paused, “the worst of it was what I was hoping to confirm with the Resistance before I said anything. In the twilight years of the Fist of Rhalgr, there were some records of the same shooting pains that currently plague the Warrior of Light occurring in some of the more senior members of the brotherhood. From what I could gather from the records sent over, it’s theorized that these injuries are a result of a monk somehow damaging the pathways in their body related to their chakras and the flow of power between and through them. If one either pushes themselves too much past their limits or pushes themselves far too often--or both--it’s possible to ‘scar’ these pathways, making subsequent flows of energy extremely painful for the person in question.”

“So is there a way to treat her then?” asked Tataru.

Orella issued out a haggard sigh in response: “There might have been one if they had actually bothered to _treat the damned issue_. Given their reverence of the Destroyer, many in the brotherhood considered such injuries as a kind of ‘ascension’ for the person in question. In their words, such injuries were the result of a brother or sister ‘reaching a level of power approaching that of the Destroyer himself; a power too great for their mortal bodies to be able to withstand’. It was considered less a disability and more a bloody badge of honor.”

“So they did nothing?” retorted Krile.

“Well, not exactly _nothing_ ,” answered Orella, “But in such cases, monks who achieved this level of ‘strength’ often retired to positions of reverence or prominence. Some became instructors in the order, while others would spend the rest of their days meditating in peace or became top political advisors to Theodoric… before he put them all to the sword anyways. In all cases, however, they all basically stopped actively training.”

“S-so… she can’t fight anymore?” whimpered Tataru.

“In general? She still very well can, assuming she actually gives herself a chance to rest. Fear not, the Warrior of Light will be able to live _and_ fight another day. However... fighting as a monk?”

“...I’m afraid such days are at an end.”

\--

“...So that’s it then.”

After a brief discussion, Tataru had agreed with Krile to inform Autumn of the news as soon as possible. Neither expected her to take it well, but they concluded it was better to not keep her in the dark, as well as stress the importance of her increasingly needed rest.

Though, seeing the color drain from Autumn’s face made them pause to reconsider.

“I-it’s not all bad though, right? At least you _can_ still fight! I know you were in a right panic about even being able to keep going to begin with!” stammered Tataru.

“ _After_ she’s well enough to do so again,” Krile interjected. “That being said, she _is_ correct. You narrowly dodged the worst of it, but you’ll be fine nonetheless. You just… cannot continue forward as a monk anymore...”

“Oh, is that all…” chided Autumn.

Krile flashed a confused look. “I’m afraid I don’t see the issue? You can still fight! The Warrior of Light is not going anywhere.”

“You don’t understand…” mumbled the Elezen. “Becoming a monk was the whole reason that I even left Thavnair to begin with. Pursuing that dream is what led me to becoming the Warrior of Light, what led me to meeting all of you, and what gave me the strength to do _so_ much good! I can’t just… _stop_! Not when there’s still so much left to do!” Her voice trembled more and more as she spoke.

“Forgive me Autumn, but you act as though your adventuring days are at an end! You have gained so much strength in your time here in Eorzea, and I know that you’ve dabbled in a number of different combat styles; Something that I recall was a source of _pride_ for you in the past! Is it not enough that you continue on as one of those other jobs? I’m certain that those who would benefit from your aid will care little if it came from the end of an axe or spear as opposed to a fist!”

Autumn merely sat silently on her bed for a few seconds, her head drooping down towards the ground. She lightly shook her head for a moment before she found the strength--and words--to respond:  
  
“It’s not as simple as that. As a Monk… I felt what I can best describe as… a sense of _freedom_ as I fought. That’s what it first felt like, the day I first tapped into one of my chakras; like bursting free from a cage that, at the time, I wasn’t even aware of being in! That _sense_ is what got me to push myself as far as I did, because it always made me feel like I was... taking flight, so to speak!”  
  
“...You _are_ right, I’ve tried no shortage of other ‘combat styles’. And some of them can be really fun at times to practice; even some of the more magic-focused ones! But I cannot claim _any_ of them to share that same sensation that I felt when I fought as a Monk. No matter what I tried, it felt more like a hassle, and I took comfort in always having a thing to fall back on; A proverbial home of sorts! And now, that _home_ is gone, and...”

“I… I do not know what to do…”

~~

“It genuinely breaks my heart to see her like this. She may still be awake, but I can’t help but think her soul got ripped out of her all the same!” remarked F’lhaminn, as she set her tea cup back down on the table.

“I know what you mean, and she’s been getting worse too! I don’t think I’ve seen her out of her room for a few days now!” Tataru exclaimed. “At this rate, even if we do end up finding something at the Crystal Tower, I don’t know if she’ll even be up to doing anything at all!”

Tataru took another sip of her tea before sitting back in her chair. “If nothing else, we gotta get her out of that room more. Have her try something new or something different, if only to just break up the monotony! Something other than just stewing in her own misery all day...”

“Something new…” F’lhaminn wondered to herself, as she took another sip of her tea.  
  
A sly grin began to form on her face.

“Tataru dear, by any chance, do we have any pressing need for any supplies? From Limsa, specifically.”

“ _Limsa_? Well… we could always use more spirits I suppose. Wouldn’t hurt to stock up on some tea leaves and salted fish too. Why do you ask?”

“Well…”  
  
\--

~ _One week later_ ~

The morning sun hung ever dutifully in the air over La Noscea as a blandly garbed Autumn slowly made her way down Hawkers’ Alley. A bag stuffed full of supplies dangled from one of her hands and another bag hung upon her back, while she held up a parchment in her free hand detailing a list of ‘direly’ needed supplies.

_I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t have to, but most of the Scions are away right now either investigating the Crystal Tower or helping out with the Alliance! Besides, you’ve been cooped up in this room for so long now! You could use a bit of sun, and we here at the Rising Stones could use some help with the chores! So please… could you do this? For me...?_

Autumn groaned as the words echoed in her head anew. _Dammit, she knows I can’t refuse her when she looks at me like that. I’m beginning to think she’s getting a bit_ **_too_ ** _good at her job..._

_Well… whatever. Lets see… It looks like all I have left to get is the fish. Time to swing around to the Fisherman’s Guild, I guess._

Autumn readjusted the bag upon her back and began her trek towards the city’s aetheryte. Despite the area being as densely packed as it always was, few--if anyone--gave the Elezen much notice, even with her face in full view. An advantage of having worn a mask for so long in the public eye, she thought to herself; an advantage she had used once before while the Brass Blades still hunted for her in Ul’dah. Wanted posters tend to not be particularly effective when the person in the picture was masked to begin with.

The mood of the air seemed joyful enough at least, despite the war with Garlemald looming many malms away. Perhaps more so than normal; excitement seemed to drip from many of the voices that could be heard around her. Autumn had noticed a number of posters around the city as she made her way through it, as well as the presence some criers talking of an exciting new performance. Mayhap-

“Good madam! Oh, good madam! You can spare a moment, yes?”

Autumn found herself suddenly accosted by a plain-clothed Roegadyn man on the path towards the Fisherman’s guild. 

“I… uh-”  
  
“Of course you can! You see, I’ve just witnessed a performance most marveolus, and I simply _must_ tell someone about it!”

“O-okay? I-”  
  
“What sort of performance, you ask?” continued the man, seemingly unheedful of Autumn’s bewilderment. “Why, none other than a troupe of traveling dancers hailing from Radz-at-Han across the sea! I daresay their bold, exotically beautiful motions are like nothing our realm has ever seen!”

_Someone’s never been to Ul’dah_ , Autumn quipped to herself.

“Adventurers like you are always on the lookout for stimulating new experiences, are you not? You simply must witness this spectacle for yourself! Just follow this road toward the convent of the Dutiful Sisters, and you’ll run smack dab into the stage they’ve set up in the square!”

“Look, I’m not much in the mood for shows right now, okay?”

“But you _must_ see it! It’ll change your life! I swear it will!”

“I-I…”  
  
“Hey, calm down man. You’re starting to scare the poor woman.”

A midlander man to the side of the Roegadyn finally spoke up. “I’m sorry about him, ma’am. He tends to get rather excitable about this kind of stuff. In his defense though, it _was_ an awfully good show.”

“No worries,” whispered Autumn.

Heeding the words of his friend, the Roegadyn issued out a quick apology before the two men turned away and resumed their conversation from before. Sensing her opportunity, Autumn quickly put some distance between her and them.

_Not terribly interested in a show at the moment, I just want to get the stuff and get back,_ she began thinking. _That being said, if what that man said was true, I’m going to be walking right into it, aren’t I?_

_...He said they were from Radz-at-Han, right? Hannish dancers..._

She made her way slowly down toward the aforementioned square while lost in her thoughts. Not much greeted her upon her arrival: three people dressed in blue boleros stood off to the side, one of which was making themselves busy maintaining what looked like a harp. In the center of the square, a modestly dressed Miqo’te woman with pinkish hair and tanned complexion stood, doing her best to attract anyone within earshot. It didn’t take her long to notice Autumn’s arrival.

“Greetings, traveler. Come to see our little show, have you? On behalf of Troupe Falsiam, I welcome you!”

Autumn opened her mouth, an excuse to pass through ready on her tongue, but the woman gave her no such chance to issue it.

“My troupemates are seeing to the final preparations even as we speak. Don’t wander too far--the curtain will be rising any minute now!”

“I-! ... _Gah_.” Autumn resigned herself to defeat; she simply did not have the energy left to protest anymore. Fate did not seem to want to grant her much reprieve today, so she elected to simply ride the figurative wave out.

The woman seemed to give no notice of Autumn’s internal decision, continuing on with her pitch: “It’s been quite some time since we brought our art to these shores, or so our fearless leader tells us. I’ve been practicing day and night ever since we arrived to bring you and your countrymen the performance of a lifetime!”

Autumn flashed a weak smile in response, which seemed to satisfy the woman for the moment. The woman’s efforts did not take long to bear fruit, as others began to flock to the square around them, eagerly seizing at the bait laid out in plain view to them. Autumn set both of her bags onto the ground close to her, and waited for the figurative curtain to rise.

A wait that mercifully did not take long, given the oppressively hot sun overhead. After the addition of a large, circular, and predominantly blue carpet to the square, one of the blue-garbed individuals that stood off to the side before now stepped out to the center.

“So close, and yet so far…” started the man. “For all who cannot make the voyage to our home, we bring out art to yours… Hailing from Radz-at-Han across the sea, I present the incomparable, transcendent… Troupe Falsiam!”

A chorus of applause issued forth from the crowd around Autumn. The Elezen herself merely stood quietly in place, mostly making sure that none among her had any sudden ideas about the goods around her feet.

“Today, we have prepared a sumptuous feast for your eyes and ears. Let the soaring melodies and the stirring, striking steps of our dancers reach your heart and spirit you away to a distant world!”

As the man finished his speech, he moved to the side as a Miqo’te woman clad in a revealing red dress began to step forward. It took a moment for Autumn to recognize her as the woman that greeted her from before, now sporting a radically different outfit. Yet, it was an outfit that seemed to strike her with a faint sense of familiarity; a memory that she couldn’t quite place…

The three blue-garbed Hyurs pulled out their instruments and gave a nod to the dancer on the makeshift stage in front of them. As they began playing their jovial tune, the Miqo’te began to dance and sway rhythmically to the beat, flourishing the chakrams that danced upon her waist moments earlier. In response, the crowd erupted into its own performance of sorts; a chorus of cheers and gasps, with some of them clapping in tune.

Autumn silently watched on, her eyes keeping pace with the movements of the dancer in front of her. The few times she has had to pretend to be interested in watching a dance performance, she would focus on the kinds of movements the dancer made and imagined them as if they were fighting an invisible enemy. Though it was not an often occurrence, doing so had allowed her in the past to work out certain movements of her own while engaged in her own fights, or at the least learn about the limits of others’ bodies and how far they--and herself by extension--could move in real life.

Even her otherwise untrained eyes, however, could tell that _this_ dancer seemed to be a step above others that she had seen in the past. Her movements possessed an extra sense of grace to them; perfectly fluid movements from one pose to the next, as if she moved like the wind itself. Yet there was something else to it as well. Just watching the Miqo’te move gave a budding feeling of warmth within herself, granting her a much needed reprieve from the concerns and worries that often burdened her in recent days.

As she felt her cheeks warm and her heart beat faster, even she had to admit it. It was a good show. The music set the stage expertly, and the dancer...

_She’s… beautiful…_

“Yes… Just so, Ranaa… Betray not your trembling heart… Dance your dance till the last, and let them fall under your spell…”

Autumn’s ears twitched as the whisper reached her, snapping her back to reality once more. She instinctively glanced over to her right, catching the sight of a Hyuran woman that she had not noticed before. Maroon blouse… long, black pants… and long, grey hair slightly tucked back by a pair of black rimmed spectacles. She had the look of an easterner, that much Autumn could tell at the very least.

Sensing the presence of eyes upon her, the woman turned to face Autumn.

“Oh! My apologies. I did not mean to intrude upon your experience.” 

“N-no worries,” muttered Autumn.

“Pray ignore my mutterings and enjoy the girl’s performance. She’s trained quite hard for this day, after all,” chirped the woman.

Autumn flashed a weak smile in response before turning back towards the show. The woman, however, kept her gaze upon the Elezen; her eyes busy tracing their body with burgeoning interest.

A wily smile began to crease her lips.

“I must say,” she started, “You carry yourself with a certain grace, don’t you?”

Autumn turned back towards the woman, her eyebrows furrowing as she wore a worried expression.

“Ah, but do excuse me. I forget myself…” The woman flashed an apologetic smile before turning back to the show.

Autumn turned back towards the show as well, trying her best to pretend that the mystery woman was no longer present.

_I get the feeling this isn’t the end of this…_

\--

The square had returned to its original, unadorned state just as the sun began to set. The large blue carpet was tucked away to the side, with a number of instruments laying on top of it, as if to guard their would-be charge. The performers stood off to the side, while the Miqo’te from before addressed her adoring public--after a quick change back to her previous wardrobe.

Autumn had remained in the area out of an overriding sense of politeness, as she believed an early exit may send the wrong message to her generous entertainers. After all, at no point did anyone from the group ask for any compensation from her, other than the eyes upon them. With the crowd finally dispersing, however, she spied her chance to finally slip away.

A chance that would prove as elusive as the fish on her shopping list.

“Forgive me for not having properly introduced myself.”

The Easterner from before managed to catch Autumn just as the latter’s hand moved down to pick up the bags of supplies on the ground. The woman gave a slight curtsy toward her before continuing.

“I am Nashmeira, principal dancer and leader of Troupe Falsiam. Ranaa, the girl whose performance you were admiring, is my number one student and protégé.”

_That explains her comment from before..._

“Autumn Darbonne,” replied the Elezen, giving a small curtsy of her own while silently hoping that her name would go unrecognized.

“This may seem a bit forward, but pray tell: have you ever harbored aspirations of stepping on stage? Of losing yourself in a whirlwind of music and motion, and enchanting your audience with your every movement?”

“...Willingly?” quipped Autumn.

Nashmeira gave off a short, dignified chuckle in response before continuing. “Forgive me… I know this is all quite sudden. And yet, I could not help myself. From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I saw--how can I put it?--a poise that could only be honed on the field of battle.”  
  
 _I should certainly hope so, all things considered_ , Autumn hissed internally to herself.

“Yes, there is no doubt in my mind… you would make a fine dancer.”

_Naturally_ , she thought, while listlessly nodding her head.

... _Wait what._

“W-wait, what?”

“I see you are confused, and for good reason. Allow me to explain: there are forms of dance meant merely to grace a stage, and then there is the art of Troupe Falsiam.” As she finished her sentence, she gestured to the group of performers behind her, showing no shortage of pride in the act.

“We dance the Kriegstanz--a dance of war so ancient, it is said to predate even the founding of our city.”

“Really? Didn’t think there was much around older than some of the buildings in that city,” Autumn commented.

“Oh? You are familiar with our home?”  
  
“Intimately. I grew up there, after all! ...Or well, close enough to it to know about it.”

“My, my!” exclaimed the Hyur. “I apologize, mayhap all of this is old news to you then.”

“A-actually, I’m not quite familiar with this at all. Please, by all means, continue. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Very well...” Nashmeira readjusted herself before she continued. “Our dancers train primarily in two techniques, each with applications both ornamental and martial. For one, we are proficient in tossing throwing weapons which are most dazzling to the eyes--and even more damaging to any unfortunate foes they strike.”

“I’d imagine so!” added Autumn.

“The second is, of course, dancing itself. Perhaps you have already felt it, but it is believed that there are mystical powers to our movements, which can serve to heighten senses, lift spirits, and drive weakness and worry from people’s hearts.”

Autumn immediately thought back to the show from earlier. _She’s got me there. Even_ **_I_ ** _forgot myself for a moment._  
  
“The people of Eorzea have done well to rebuild this realm in the Calamity’s wake. Yet there are scars that still go unhealed, and the specter of war still looms large over the land. If our art of dance might serve in some small way to ease worries and fears, and offer succor to the hearts of Eorzeans far and wide, nothing would bring our humble troupe greater honor. And so did I decide to lead Troupe Falsiam on a tour of this realm.”

She stopped at that point to presumably catch her breath, or so Autumn first believed. As Nashmeira began to look downward with a growing frown on her face, however, Autumn reconsidered her assumption.

“...I’m sensing a _but_.”

“Well… there is, however, _a bit_ of a rub. We have come with only two dancers--Ranaa and myself--and I am still nursing an injury I suffered on the voyage over. My protégé is a talented one, but I can hardly ask her to bear the burden of tour alone. And so I felt compelled to reach out to you.”

Autumn quickly held up her hands in response. “Well then let me stop you right there then. I’m afraid I’m nursing some rather serious injuries of my own as well. I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I think you’d might be better served asking someone-”

“Please Autumn!” Nashmeira interjected, “I would normally never make such a request of anyone--a stranger especially so--but circumstances effectively require it of me! I can assure you that the arrangement would be to our mutual benefit! Should you offer us your aid, I will personally instruct you in the art of the Kriegstanz--an art that will avail you not only on the stage, but on the field of battle as well!”

Autumn suddenly found herself at a loss of words. She wanted to protest, but no sentence would form in her head or on her lips. As much as her inner self wished to pull away from the scene, Nashneira’s request proved too earnest to just outright ignore.

The Easterner took the opportunity to get the last word in: “Worry not… I will not force you to rush your decision. We must begin rehearsal for our next performance. Do give some thought to my offer, and seek me out again should you be so inclined.”

Finally, the moment Autumn longed for had arrived, as Nashmeira gave one final curtsy before returning to the crowd of performers behind her. Autumn simply stood solemnly in place as the crowd around her finally dispersed in earnest. Once again, she found herself alone with her thoughts.

She looked down to one of her scarred hands as she contemplated the events of the day.

…

…

... _Godsdamnit. One of these days, stuff like this is gonna get me killed._

~~

_*Knock knock knock*_

“I’m coming! I’m coming!”

Tataru shot up from her desk and made a beeline for the front door to the Rising Stones. _Who could be here at this hour?!_ , she thought to herself.

As she threw the door open, she caught sight of three cloth bags resting on the ground, with what looked like a letter resting on top of it all. Though she swore she could hear the sound of someone--or something--wheezing nearby, there was not a soul in sight; The Seventh Heaven had long since closed for the night.

The letter itself was addressed to Tataru, with the Rising Stones listed as the destination. There was no return address listed, but she recognized the handwriting almost immediately.

The Lalafell shrugged before pocketing the letter and began the process of slowly dragging the three bags inside, resting them at the bottom of the stairs near the front of the room. The task served to greatly exhaust her, however, as she ambled over to the nearest chair before her legs had the chance to give out.

“Who was that, Tataru?” questioned F’lhaminn as she quietly walked over to her.

“A… <wheeze>... delivery…” peeped Tataru in response. “A letter too… do you mind... reading it? I… <wheeze>... need a minute.”

F’lhaminn nodded as she reached out to accept the letter from Tataru. She calmly opened up the envelope, unfolded the letter, and began to silently read the contents to herself:  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Tataru,_

_Apologies for sending back the supplies like this. Assuming it all came back whole anywho; the Postmoogle here swears to me that they are up to the task, but I fear this might prove to be an exceedingly heavy delivery for them._

_Long story short, Something came up while I was in Limsa, and I will be out for a little while as a result. No major fighting or anything, I promise; As odd as it might sound, a traveling troupe of Hannish dancers asked me for some help while I was in the city, and… well you know me by now. From what it sounds like, they won’t be needing protection or anything serious like that, just another helping hand is all (as well as someone more familiar with the realm to help guide them around)._

_I don’t know how long exactly that I’ll be out. If I’m right, probably not too long. However, if I’m not back soon enough and you need me for any reason, contact me on the linkshell ASAP. If that doesn’t work for whatever reason, send notice to any/all of the major cities. I’m told their tour has hopes of making a stop in each of the major city-states, including Ishgard and Gyr Abania (though those locations in particular are being saved for last; try Ul’dah or Gridania first)._

_Don’t worry too much about me in the meanwhile. I’ll be fine, I promise._

_~Autumn_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What does it say?” Tataru asked, as F’lhaminn finished reading the last of the letter.

The Miqo’te smirked as she reread the contents. “It appears that Autumn will be absent from the Rising Stones for a little bit.”  
  
“That’s… <wheeze>... a good thing… right?”

“We shall see, my dear,” whispered the Miqo’te. “We shall see...”

~~


	5. Chapter 4

~~

~ _Some time later_ ~ 

The curtain had freshly fallen on the final show of the tour. The monsters born of the Ala Mhigans’ sorrow had been laid low, just in time for the enraptured audience to fail to recognize the true peril that they were but recently in. In the middle of the makeshift stage stood the vanquishers of the fell fiends; the proud trio of dancers of Troupe Falsiam: Ranaa, Nashmeira, and Autumn.

The three gave their bows to the crowd before making their way off the stage, cheers and applause blanketing them as they made their exit. They came to a stop off to the side of the village as the remainder of the Troupe took to the field, busying themselves with the dismantling of the show.

“Mistress Nashmeira!” beamed Ranaa. “Oh, I _knew_ you wouldn’t miss our grand finale! And your dancing… why, you were every bit as enchanting as I remembered from all those years ago. Sharing the stage with you truly was a dream come true…”

Nashmeira shied away from her pupil, trying her best to maintain her sense of seniority to the young Miqo’te. “I simply had to make amends for my embarrassing display in Gridania, did I not? My wounds had all but healed entirely, so I redoubled my training efforts after arriving here in Ala Mhigo. I daresay I feel as spry as I have in years!”

She stretched her arms up into the air as if to punctuate her point, before turning to the two dancers in front of her in earnest.

“And yet, there can be no doubt: you and Autumn were the true stars today. To think that you have come so far in such a short span of time! Mayhap I should have just admired your performance from the wings instead of stepping in…”

“Tut-tut, Meira. I seem to recall you telling me just the other day that the girl was still not ready for the spotlight.”

The praise from master to student was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of an older Miqo’te woman dressed in a modest purple dress.

“F’lhaminn?!” blurted Autumn.

“You know me, Lhaminn,” Nashmeira cooly responded. “I am strict with my students because I expect only the best from them. And these two have done me proud today.” Pride dripped from her lips as she stepped aside for the approaching woman.

F’lhaminn stood to Nashmeira’s side, and immediately gave a warm grin to Autumn. “Fancy meeting you here, Autumn. I must admit, it gave me quite a start when my Meira here told me that _you_ of all people had joined her merry little troupe.”

Autumn reflexively looked away, her cheeks quickly turning red before a realization dawned on her. “W-well… Oh! I guess _you’re_ the songstress that Nashmeira mentioned before, the one that helped get the Troupe here to Eorzea to begin with! In retrospect, I suppose I shouldn’t be _too_ surprised it was you.”

F’lhaminn responded with a small chuckle. “Oh, Meira and I go far, far back, you know. After those horrific events unfolded in Ul’dah, I hid away in Thavnair for some time. It was then that we first made each other’s acquaintance.

_I think I remember Hoary mentioning that once… I guess I should have asked more about it, if only out of morbid curiosity_ , Autumn thought to herself.

“Song and dance go together rather well, needless to say,” she continued, “and our friendship rapidly blossomed. When she turned to me for assistance in planning Troupe Falsiam’s tour of Eorzea, I was more than happy to do my part.”

Nashmeira chirped in: “It does not surprise me that an accomplished adventurer would have many friends across the realm, but never would I have suspected you and my dear Lhaminn were so close! Truly, fate must have brought us together for a reason.”

“I feel the same,” F’lhaminn agreed. “Your presence alone has motivated me to grow in ways I never would have thought possible. You have given me the courage, strength, and determination to be more than what I was.”

“S-stop, you might actually make me cry…!” stammered Autumn, her cheeks glowing in greater intensity.

“I must say though, If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were having quite a bit of fun dancing out there. After all that time you spent in the Rising Stones recently, I began to fear you wouldn’t be able to smile again!”

“A-...! Hmm…” Autumn instinctually readied herself against the playful tease, but found herself once again lost for words as she acknowledged the truth in the songstress’s words.

“Oh! Maybe the Kreigstanz helped out Autumn as well!” clapped Ranaa, making no effort to hide her excitement.

“An interesting theory Ranaa,” F’lhaminn acknowledged. “Well Autumn, is she right? Or is there more to the story here?”

Autumn crossed her arms and covered her mouth with one of her hands as she contemplated her journey from Limsa Lominsa to Ala Ghanna. 

Her first experiences with the art on the coast of Bloodshore.   
Learning of the threat of the Totentanz and its terrifying effects on people.   
Her travels across the realm, learning the art of the Kreigstanz while dealing with rioting mobs and shadowy specters.

Her training suddenly took the forefront of her thoughts. What had started as a simple humoring of a request turned into an adventure in its own right, despite assurances to Tataru that it wouldn’t. Yet it took her up until now to even realize it; time seemed to have skipped forward abruptly, and now she suddenly found herself standing side-by-side with expert dancers. Not as a guardian or guide, but one of their own. She had trained and fought all without truly realizing it, and thinking back on it all now gave Autumn an idea as to how things had gotten this far.

“Well…” she started, “It’s certainly possible that the Kriegstanz may have had a hand in things. _I_ think there’s more to it… but how do I explain things…?”

The Elezen stood still for a moment to properly put together her thoughts into words, as if she was mentally drawing up the blueprints for a new building before making the first swing of her hammer.

“When I danced… it never quite felt like I was just randomly flailing my arms and legs around, you know? I half expected things to be like executing a ballroom dance or something when I first started out; stilted movements that painted visual scenes for people to enjoy. But… it was never like that at all. When I moved… it felt almost as if there was a… _wind_ of sorts that guided my movements forward. Hells, at times, I wasn’t sure if I was literally about to take flight or not! It was kinda like...”

“Kind of like…” prodded F’lhaminn.

“...Like when I fought as a Monk, now that I think on it,” conceded Autumn. “I-I mean- Not _quite_ like a… Gah, how do I phrase it? When I fought as a Monk, I always kinda likened it as if I was channeling a lightning of sorts. Like, when I delivered a good Bootshine, I imagined a bolt of lightning shooting out from my arm and into the enemy. Fighting as a Dancer feels... _kinda_ similar to that, only I’d better describe it as a _wind_ flowing out from me instead! In both cases though, there was this... _energy_ that flowed out of me; a warmth or strength that helped guide my hands, in a manner of speaking! D-... Does that make any sense?”

The songstress smiled. “Would you say you find it agreeable then, my dear?”

Autumn paused as she considered the question.

“I… I guess I _do_.”

“Thought I recognized that face from somewhere!”  
  
The sudden interjection of Raganfrid, Ala Ghanna’s elder, served as an abrupt end to the impromptu bout of introspection.

“From liberator of Ala Mhigo to traveling performer, eh? Not a path I’d have predicted, but I’m hardly surprised to see you emerge triumphant in whatever you do. Aye, that was truly a performance for the ages.

“T-thank you, sir!” Autumn stuttered as she bowed, if only to hide her growing embarrassment.

The man gave a light chuckle before he continued: “Here in Ala Gannha, we don’t get much exposure to foreign cultures. Rather stimulating, that was. ‘Specially the grand finale where you chased off those bloody shadow-beasts. Got the blood pumping, I’d say! I only wish there was more we could do to show our appreciation…”

“Think nothing of it, my good sir!” Ranaa declared. “Just knowing that we’ve brought a measure of joy to Ala Mhigo in its time of need is reward enough for us.”

“Too kind you are, miss.” Raganfrid responded. “The road ahead of us is a long one, but thanks to you, we can stride down it with a spring in our step. Know that our village is always open to you, should you ever be willing to grace us with another performance. Farewell, friends.”

The old man waved his arm in a brief farewell, and began to move away from the crowd of performers. Once the elder was finally out of earshot, Ranaa gave a hearty sigh of relief.

“Phew! For a second, I thought he’d realized the true nature of those shadows. But no--the threat of the Totentanz is gone for now, and it seems no one’s the wiser!”

“That is heartening, indeed,” Nashmeira sighed. “And with that, we should prepare for our departure. The Ala Mhigans were kind enough to invite us in these trying times. We mustn’t linger so long that our presence becomes a burden.”

“I, too, should be on my way,” concurred F’lhaminn. “It was a pleasure and honor both to see you on the stage again, Meira. And you as well, Autumn.”

She turned to the Elezen one last time and gave her a wide smile.  
  
“Till our paths cross again, go in safety.”

And so all present went about to their own businesses once more, leaving Autumn standing alone in the town as she swam about in her own thoughts once more.

“Hmm… _Dancer_ of Light…”

She quietly laughed to herself before looking off into the sky, a long overdue smile upon her face.

~~


	6. Epilogue

~~

On a desk tucked away in a random inn room in Limsa Lominsa, a letter carrying the faint scent of a rare perfume innocently laid in plain view for all to see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_ To my dearest Meira, _

_ With any luck, this letter reaches you before it is too late.  _

_ To start, let me once more express my excitement in you and yours finally making the journey over to Eorzea. I have no doubt that Troupe Falsiam will be welcomed with open arms here, and I have little doubt that the Kreigstanz will prove to be a great boon to the denizens here. As I have promised, I am continuing my research into the situations in Ishgard and Ala Mhigo concerning the Totentanz. Once I have come into more concrete information, I will inform you as soon as possible. _

_ As far as your concerns for finances, I have taken the opportunity to inform Master Gegeruju about Troupe Falsiam, and I am pleased to inform you that he has taken great interest in your performances. I will warn you that the man can be a bit eccentric at times, but no doubt he will see fit to sponsor your tour once you demonstrate your skills to him. Though he might consider himself a connoisseur of the fine arts, he has always been remarkably easy to impress. Just dance as you always have, and the rest should follow without incident. _

_ As for the main reason I am writing to you today, I have a personal request to make. From one friend to another. _

_ Another good friend of mine has experienced some rather great difficulties as of late. To make a long story short, She has suffered some serious injuries while trying to aid mutual friends of ours, and has lapsed into a rather serious depression as a direct result. So much so, that I fear that it may be a matter of time before the Totentanz sinks its teeth into her… if it has not done so already. _

_ She is an Elezen by the name of Autumn Darbonne, though there is a chance she may introduce herself as Autumn Dawn. It is a moniker she has had for quite some time since first coming to Eorzea, though she has been moving away from it in recent months. _

_ I am aware that your Troupe currently finds itself slightly short-handed for dancers, what with only you and your protégé able to make the journey to Eorzea. Therefore, I would like to make a proposal: I would like you to invite Autumn to join your ranks as a fellow dancer. Though I imagine you might be concerned at such a request, know that Autumn is an incredibly skilled adventurer, and I have little doubt that she would be able to perform to your standards in no time at all. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ In the coming days, we hope to send Autumn out to Limsa Lominsa on the pretext of obtaining some much needed supplies. I have already talked with some of my older contacts in Limsa and have instructed them to direct her towards your performance in the city. All that is hopefully required of you is to make sure that she witnesses your show. After that, simply inform her of your situation and press upon her your need for aid. Autumn has always been an extremely aloof individual--especially when it comes to strangers--however, she admittedly has a bit of a weakness in always wanting to aid others in their time of need. Be persistent, and she will eventually relent to aiding you. With any luck, her time spent with you will serve as much a benefit to her as I believe it will to you. _

_ I ask that you write to me as soon as you can when you do obtain a response from her, regardless of if she accepts your offer, rejects it, or you yourself do not wish to indulge such a request. If it is the latter, know that I will fully understand your decision. If she turns you down, I shall endeavor to coax her into accepting the offer myself. And if she accepts… well, I would love to hear the good news as soon as possible! In any case, it is merely my hope that I can finally aid someone who has done much and more for me; more than I will ever be able to truly repay. _

_ If nothing else, however, I pray that your tour goes well. If I have the chance, I hope to be able to steal myself away to watch some of it too! _

_ Be well, _

_ ~Lhaminn _ __   
__   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door to the inn room slowly creaked open as the leader of Troupe Falsiam made her way inside, eager to obtain some much deserved rest after her journey back from Gyr Abania. As she laid her belongings at the foot of her bed, she gave out a small gasp as she noticed the letter on the desk nearby.

“My, my! Awfully careless of me to leave something like that out for anyone to see.”

She picked up the letter and reread the contents before carefully folding it back up, and tucking it deep within one of her bags.

“Things did end up _ exceedingly _ well this time, didn’t they, Lhaminn? Our performances together always seem to be some of our best work…”

-END-


End file.
